


Lifting the Weight

by JohnMarston



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Depression, F/M, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 19:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14142702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnMarston/pseuds/JohnMarston
Summary: Act 1 from Sayori's point of view.





	Lifting the Weight

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [as we tremble (and we bleed)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13002210) by [Buttercup_ghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost). 



> This isn't a pleasant story, and it doesn't have a happy ending. Please be mindful of the tags, and please don't read if you think you could have an averse reaction to the content.

More than anything, you were tired. It filled your lungs with every breath you took, curled up in your bones, sunk deep into your very being. It defied logic or reason – you didn't know it was possible to wake up after twelve hours feeling more exhausted than you were the night before, but somehow you managed. Days bled together, each one stretching on longer and longer until they felt a single never-ending monotony. More than anything, you just wanted to rest.

You couldn't remember life without the incessant, suffocating weight on your chest pressing and stifling and smothering. Each breath became a labor, every false smile a struggle. You think you understand, a little bit, how Giles Corey felt – but that's not true. He endured until the end. You don't think you can for much longer. He was much stronger than you could ever be. Don't lie to yourself.

It was, you thought, quite a bit like drowning. Constantly clawing through the murky waters, thrashing and flailing, swept along by unseen currents, the pressure clawing it's way down your throat, trying to reach that sweet, precious air – and the worst part was when you actually found it. When a good day came around, and you remembered how to laugh. When your smiles reached your eyes. Those treasured lungfuls only hurt all the more when the next wave crashed into you, stole your breath away again, and swept you further under than you thought possible.

You clung to him to keep yourself afloat. It was selfish, you know that, but suffocation takes reason out of the picture. You were just acting on instinct, even as your greedy inhales only served to fill your lungs with more fluid. It's clear that it was one-sided – a life preserver will float whether there's a bloated corpse drifting along on it or not, after all – but, honestly, you preferred it that way. Better that he not know than for him to waste his time worrying about you.

If only it just wasn't so heavy. If only you just weren't so tired.

If only you just weren't so numb.

You weren't enough for him. It was obvious. You couldn't be enough for anyone, but if anyone deserved happiness, he did. He put up with you for years, and the least you could do was try to return the favor. (You could never repay him fully, of course. The sun cared not for the gratitude of a weed, and yet on it shone anyway. But you would try.) So you invited him to the club.

You might be a waste of air, but you're not blind. It made sense. Natsuki enjoyed manga even more than he did. She was spunky, and cute, and so much more than a glassy-eyed smile dispenser who couldn't even take care of herself. It was only natural. Even his poems took after her.

So why did the vast cavern in your chest grow ever wider? Why did the weight on your chest double, triple when you saw them together? Why did your breath catch in your throat and your lungs fill with ice?

It's what you wanted, right?

And then you fucked it up. Of course you did. It's what you do best. The only thing you could find it in you to care about, and you can't even do that right. All you had to do was be happy for him – for _them_ – but instead you made it all about you. Again. You always had to walk to school with him, you always had to walk back home together, you always had to rely on him to clean your room and kitchen and laundry and now that he had someone he could _actually_ enjoy spending time with, you just couldn't let it go. Thoughts of them together, of her hand in his, of her pink eyes staring into his deep brown... They flashed before your eyes every time you blinked, stole the air from your lungs every time you tried to force a laugh. It was so obvious. Of course Monika noticed.

She tried to help. Everything was always so logical with her, so measured, like she was back in debate club again. If this, then that. She knew, of course, how you were feeling. She had a way of knowing everything. You brought him here to make him happy, and he was, she reasoned. You brought him here to make new friends, so he wouldn't have to rely on you, and he had. You brought him here so he could forget about you. She didn't say it, but it hung in the air unanswered – 

Why were you still hanging around?

The club would still have four members. You weren't needed anymore. You could just... go.

You didn't know. You still don't.

After the festival, you told yourself. It's the least you could do. She helped you, by founding this club and helping _you_ help _him,_ so you'd help her back, and then you'd be done. No doubt there'd be plenty of new members – with those cupcakes, of course there would be – and then you could just slip out. No one would notice your absence. 

You'd finally stop being a burden.

You could finally rest.

But Monika wasn't the only one. He noticed, too. And if he noticed, it had to be _very_ obvious. It'd been years without a mistake, after all, but – well. You should've known it was only a matter of time. You've never really been good at anything. It only makes sense that you'd manage to screw this up too.

He came by, and you ruined him too. You dumped all of your problems onto him, and forced him to waste time and energy pretending to comfort you. It was all an act, of course; he grew tired of the fake you long ago, and there was simply no reason for him to even pretend to care about the real you. You played along with the façade for his sake – he was so kind to even bother putting on a false face. But all the while all you could think about was how selfish you were to even make that necessary. All you could feel was the crushing weight on your chest forcing each breath to be shallower and shallower, your heart constricting further and further with each syllable he uttered. You were relieved when he finally left; the two of you could finally lower the masks and stop the pointless exercise. You could continue to stare blankly at the wall until Monika had need of you. He could finally be free of your weight. You couldn't bear to drag him down too.

But try as you might, all that day, you just couldn't. stop. thinking. about them. Her hand in his. His lips pressed to hers. Her laughter mixing with his. His sparkling emerald eyes gazing deep into her pink. 

You just had to see it for yourself. You deserved it.

The sight of them made your blood turn to ice and your heart shatter. You thought you were struggling before? It was a pebble compared to the boulder that now smothered you. And of course you were seen – add another thing ruined to the list, as Natsuki fled the scene and he turned to you with irritation flashing in his eyes.

You fell back into your well practiced roles. You, the useless waste of space that existed only to cause pain. Him, the infinitely kind friend who pretended to care for your sake. The dance began anew.

But perhaps his patience had waned. You might have been able to be convinced, however unlikely, that he was concerned about your well being, like he had tried earlier back in your room. But confessing his love for you? Please. All it did was confirm what you knew to be true – he was acting. Who did he spend his time in the literature club with? Whose poems did his resemble? Who did he decide to help for the festival – who had gotten close enough to be touch him – to kiss – who did he leave you in favor of –

Who did he love?

Not you. 

So if he was acting, you could too. You could pretend to be happy. This was what he wanted, right?

You played along. You played along, as the relentless weight crushed you, as your heart was little more than tatters scattered on the ground. You played along as he confessed his love to the fake Sayori he thought he knew, the fake Sayori that he grew bored of years ago. You played along knowing the real you couldn't keep his attention for half as long – the you with the rainclouds and the exhaustion and the weight. You played along long enough for him to be satisfied, and his quick dismissal of you back to your home only confirmed that you'd played your part well. 

Your phone vibrated the instant you stepped inside – a text, from Monika. She had everything under control, it seemed; you didn't have to do anything for the festival after all. Between Yuri's decorations, Natsuki's scrumptious cupcakes, and his good looks, they had everything they needed. In fact, if you're not feeling well, you don't have to show up tomorrow, she said. They could handle it just fine without you.

You spent a long time staring blankly at the wall, hyper-aware of each second that painfully ticked by, the only sound your labored breathing. Every inhale a struggle, each exhale rushing out of you as if the air couldn't stand to inhabit the same space you did. You couldn't blame it. You didn't want to either. The golden light illuminating your room faded from the window, slipping into inky blue punctuated by harsh pinpricks of fluorescent light. You struggled to find a reason to go tomorrow. You struggled to find a reason not to. You struggled to feel anything, anything at all.

Anything besides just being empty.

But at the end, as in all other things, you failed.

You'd be lying if you told yourself that reaching a decision brought you any joy or relief. There was still a hollow, aching void in your chest where you thought you remembered happiness existing long ago. But you had to admit, as you stood on your toes and the coarse rope scratched its way down your neck, that you felt lighter than you had in years.

**Author's Note:**

> go read _as we tremble (and we bleed)_ because it does everything that this fic wanted to except better, and it came first. it was simultaneously incredibly inspiring and utterly demoralizing when I was halfway through this and stumbled upon that one. even most of the beats were similar (I mean sure we're following the same act but still).
> 
> basically I've been super fortunate in that I don't know what it's like to suffer from depression personally. however, I know several people that do. I wanted to read up on how it felt to be depressed so I could better understand, and then tried to write this from what I learned. dunno how accurate it is, someone else would have to chime in. if anyone else is trying to better understand like I was/am, apparently this bit from hyperboleandahalf is spot on:
> 
> http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2013/05/depression-part-two.html?m=1
> 
> if anyone feels like Sayori does in this fic, please remember that millions of people played DDLC and essentially everyone was shocked/saddened at her confession, let alone her death, and wished it could be undone/fixed. that's the reaction to a video game character. you're real and infinitely more important. please tell friends/family about how you're feeling and get help. depression is basically a real life Monika editing your brain to make you feel worse, except without the piano, singing, or cute bow. it is absolutely not your fault and you are absolutely worth saving.


End file.
